Foreword

Here is a human being.

Let’s make her, for the sake of argument, female.
Let’s make her twenty years old, and fit, and plainly, from her stirrings, alive. You can give her whatever colour and style of hair you will.She is sitting on a plain chair, dressed in fancy
ankle-boots and jeans, say, a cashmere polo-neck and – because why not?
- a diamond necklace.

We know more or less how she and all her component bits function. We can approve her elegance, admire her healthiness and her proportions. We can even decide that we like her.But now I am going to step out and lift all that glossy hair to unclasp the necklace and fling it to the floor. I am going to kneel at her feet to remove her boots. Now I pluck at the hem of the sweater. She raises her arms to help me to remove it.

Nearly there. I reach around her back and unclasp her bra. That too is flung away. Do I hear a gasp from behind me?

Finally, kneeling again, I tug her panties down
to her feet. I ask her to stand.

Here she is then, the same woman, still well-proportioned, still beautifully functional. She has no evident flaws or blemishes. All that you had assumed to be beneath those clothes is indeed there. But tell me, please, that your eyes are not drawn to her breasts and to her genital area.
And, if they are, why? Aren’t they simply components of that beautiful, functional body which you admired?